


Wine-derful

by mintjoonlep



Category: GOT7
Genre: Birthday Smut, Cunnilingus, Dirty Talk, Drunken Shenanigans, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff and Smut, For a Friend, Humor, cuteness all around, jackson is comedically bad at dirty talk while drunk but great at it while sober, jackson is tipsy af but no sex occurs while anyone is under the influence, thigh riding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-16
Updated: 2020-09-16
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:40:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26498791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mintjoonlep/pseuds/mintjoonlep
Summary: After a long day at work, nothing sounded better to you than getting to go home to spend the remainder of your birthday with your loving boyfriend. His idea of surprising you with a home-cooked meal and promises of orgasms was about as sweet as things could get, though you supposed his plans may have worked out better had he not had perhaps a bit too much wine while waiting for you to come home.
Relationships: Jackson Wang/You
Kudos: 23





	Wine-derful

**Author's Note:**

> This is a belated gift fic for a friend of mine and I hope she enjoys it a great deal.

-

“We're so sorry to make you work over on your birthday, YN. So very sorry. We're so sorry that we're gonna let Susanne go home on time even though she left early yesterday. Happy birthday! Enjoy being too tired and cranky to have celebratory sex with your hot boyfriend once you get home!”

There was a chance you were being incredibly petty. Maybe it was even immature to be in such a bad mood over working late when it would net you a little extra pay on your next check. It was possible that you ought to have let all your grousing and grumping fall behind you as soon as you'd finally been able to clock out. But, you surmised that one brilliant thing about it being your birthday was the ability to do whatever you felt like doing as soon as you were out of the office and if that included muttering under your breath about how sullen you were then you were damn sure going to do so without shame. It was your party and you'd fuss on your way up the stairs to your apartment if you wanted to.

All throughout the day, since the moment you'd rolled out of bed to get ready for work, the only thing you'd really wanted to do to celebrate your birthday was spend time with Jackson. He'd left your shared apartment before sun up, ever the ambitious go-getter, but he'd made sure to leave you the sweetest love notes throughout your home, offering compliments and assurances that he'd pamper you come the end of your mutual workdays on so many post-it notes. Arriving at the office to find a bouquet of your favorite flowers waiting at your cubicle had helped to soften the blow of learning that you'd be working later, blossoms left behind to spruce up your cubicle for as long as their petals remained vibrant. Well-wishes from co-workers, loving texts from other people close to you, and even a bit of cake on your lunch break had kept you chugging along, able to appreciate the good things in your life no matter how sour your overall mood had inevitably become. The icing on the cake, though, had been knowing that Jackson had a surprise awaiting you at home, the thought of what it could be exciting, but not as much as just getting to see his gorgeous face, feel his warm arms wrapping around your tired frame.

You thought you could even smell his cologne before you'd gotten the apartment door open, feeling the tension in your shoulders rolling off of you once the finish line towards home appeared before your eyes, welcoming as could be. Stepping inside, you let your purse slide slowly from your arm to the floor, groaning in relief while you stepped out of your shoes and let your mind become consumed with thoughts of spending the rest of the night without pants on. Getting undressed, even without leading to the sexual satisfaction you'd hoped for prior to becoming too fatigued for it, sounded like the first thing you wanted to do as soon as you'd gotten a satisfactory number of kisses from your oncoming boyfriend, smiling at the telling noise of his footfalls coming from the kitchen.

“Happy birthday to yooooou!”

Jackson shimmied towards you, swaying his hips as he sang quite loudly and with exaggerated sensuality, zero effort put into using the true talents of his gorgeous voice. He cheesed it up with full commitment, grin so luminous it could've caused all the lights in the city to give up in shame, hands bidding you towards him and pulling you against his chest so he could kiss you between words. The volume of his voice remained blaring even when you were close, but it had you laughing well before he dipped you, smooching at your neck; the inexhaustibly amorous Gomez to your presently bemused Morticia.

“Happy birthday dear, YN! Happy birthday to you and many, many, many, many, so many manies, more manies than anyone could possibly ever count, a comical amount of manies-”

He stopped to suck in a deep breath, clearly running out of air before the big finish.

“Moooooooooooooooooooore!”

His lips moved over yours after he'd drawn out the song as long as he felt was necessary, deep yet sweet in how loving it was, bearing the telltale taste of what you recognized as your mutually favorite type of wine. He let you stand up straight, kiss breaking noisily, and you took stock of the way he vaguely wobbled as he stepped back, grabbing your hand to start leading you in an almost clumsy hurry down the short hallway.

“I made you dinner!” he announced, sounding so cheerful for a man who'd been up earlier than any bird seeking a worm, glancing over his shoulder with eyes that seemed as sleepy as you expected he'd logically be though his smile was so lively.

Just as he'd said, the kitchen table bore a lovely spread, accentuated by a crimson table cloth he must have bought just that day and flickering candles which had melted down from the amount of time they may have been burning. He'd prepared a generous serving of pasta and breadsticks you could wager were homemade thanks to the bread machine you'd purchased earlier that year, the leafy greens of the side salad looking fresh. You hadn't been able to smell the fragrance of food cooking as you walked through the door, so there was a high probability that the meal had gone sadly cold, but that couldn't change how delighted you were that your doting lover had taken the time to make you just the sort of meal you wanted to indulge in on your birthday. He'd probably even made dessert or at least bought you one of your favorite sweet treats from the store.

“Baby, this looks incredible! Thank you so much for making all this!”

“Anything for my girl and even more when it's her birthday!”

He scooted around you to pull out one of the chairs, a gentleman without fail no matter the amount of alcohol he'd had, and he didn't start to shift away until you were seated, bending to drop a kiss to the crown of your head. Jackson reached for the dark bottle of wine resting in the polished bucket of mostly melted ice acting as the table's centerpiece, smile transforming to a pout once he had it in his grasp, droplets of water leaving spots on the tablecloth, and he shook it a few times in dismay.

“Oh, it's almost out. Sit tight and I'll get us another bottle.”

“Hang on there, Romeo.”

Rather than let him get very far, you darted out a hand and gripped his belt, tugging lightly to get him to turn back around. You set the more than half empty bottle of wine on the table, looking him up and down partly to see if you can really assess how tipsy he was, but also just to enjoy how good he looked. Had he not been imbibing however much alcohol, you would have been sorely tempted to grab him by the collar of his partially unbuttoned shirt and tear the red material open all the way down. Instead, you would be quite happy to eat what he'd so sweetly prepared and then turn in for the sleep you both needed, though not before having a little bit of fun. Jackson made you laugh daily, but his sense of humor tended to be a different brand of hilarious whenever he'd had a few drinks, sometimes unintentionally.

“Jacks, how much wine did you have after you got home tonight?”

“I had a few glasses.”

Using your well-learned knowledge of him, you could deduce that he hadn't sampled any of what he'd cooked yet in order to wait for you and had surely been so focused on getting everything ready, refusing to eat without you, that his drinking had been done on an empty stomach. He wasn't the type to drink overmuch or even very often, his tolerance damn impressive, but about as good as gone without food in his belly when he'd begun to partake. The fact that his words weren't a little more slurred and his coordination was as decent as it was seemed just about miraculous.

“That would explain why you're so buzzed.”

“I'm not that bad, I promise. I can definitely handle wining and dining you before we really kick off the frisky festivities.”

You had to bite the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing right away at his phrasing and how his grin was more obvious, hammy flirtation than it was subtly sensual as it tended to be when he was on his way to seducing the panties off you.

“Maybe we should hold off on those particular festivities until after I've gotten out of these slacks and I've taken this makeup off. I doubt I'm the poster girl for sexiness right now.”

“Hey, no. You don't have to do any of that. You are the sexiest woman alive.”

“You mean as opposed to dead?”

“I'd let you eat me if you were a zombie, but I'd honestly rather eat you. Not like a zombie or anything or like...your organs. Your parts. You know which ones. **Those** ones.”

Oh, this was pure gold.

You weren't sure what it was about alcohol, wine in particular, which transformed Jackson from a bona fide master at dirty talk to kind of an awkward mess when it came to verbal foreplay, but you'd gotten to witness the comedic majestic of his tongue sabotaging him on a few occasions in the past. It did nothing to lessen your attraction to him, but it had always served as a reminder of how much you loved a partner who could make you laugh as well as helping to inform you further when sex would not be in the cards any time soon. Having a much-needed giggle rather than an orgasm was perfectly fine with you and you really loved how cute Jackson was when he was struggling to touch base with his usual sultry finesse.

“Like my pussy?”

“Yes. Specifically that exact part.”

“Your favorite part?”

“Noooo, not my favorite part! My heart is your favorite part!”

He exhaled, deep and slow, as he processed his word fumble, licking his lips like doing so would make trying again a more successful venture.

“Your heart is my favorite part!”

“That rhymes. You could put it on a Valentine's or White Day card.”

“But, it's your birthday, so it'd be a birthday card. Wait. Hang on. We're not meant to be talking greeting cards!”

“And here I was thinking we could start a business.”

“I was in the middle of seducing you.”

“I'd honestly say you were at the end of it.”

Pushing back from the table and standing up, you wrapped your arms around Jackson's waist and lightly pecked the patch of skin revealed by the parting of his shirt, doing the same to his chin. You laid your cheek against his shoulder, breathing deep of the Chanel cologne he always wore and which you often stole spritzes of whenever you wanted one of the freshly laundered t-shirts you liked to sleep in to smell like him again. Usually, one of his shirts since they were so much cozier.

“Let's eat dinner and go to bed, baby. You can finish seducing me tomorrow.”

“No time like the present.”

“Present you barely got any sleep last night and is a little wine drunk. Tomorrow you will be well-rested and fully sober. Celebratory cunnilingus can wait.”

“Are you positive? For serious positive?”

It was cute how disappointed he sounded, thinking on how lovely it was and how lucky you were that your boyfriend took so much joy in tasting you, though there were dozens of other reasons beyond that for you to feel blessed to be with the man holding you in his arms.

“Yep. Totally positive. I'd much rather taste this amazing birthday feast and then let you spoon me until we both pass out.”

“Speaking of spoons, I bought cake and ice cream.”

“You spoil me rotten, love.”

You were sure another round of birthday singing and maybe even candles may have originally been in the cards, but sex and fire were too things you felt the night could do without. Time spent with him when you'd both had a long day was enough of a present for you, though with what you knew of Jackson, he'd probably hidden a few things throughout the apartment. Those could wait until tomorrow as well, your stomach grumbling with the thought of the meal on the table. With a kiss to the lips and his hands pulling your chair out again, you sat back down to begin partaking of the food he'd cooked.

It was as cold as you'd expected, but delicious just the same.

-

Rousing in the morning to find Jackson still passed out, mouth hanging open and looking well at rest had been the exact sight you'd hoped to spy upon first waking up. It wasn't often at all that you were up before him and even less often that he slept in late, delight coloring the start of your day once you realized that it'd begun to near nine-thirty with him still dreaming. There was no telling how he might feel once he slipped out of bed, if he'd suffer from any sort of headache, but he was usually the lucky type who rarely ended up hungover and it gave you hope that he might be in the same high spirits as he had been the prior evening. By the time you'd both finished your dinner as well as dessert, tidied up, and turned down the covers, the two of you had been exhausted enough to drift off in mere minutes. Your sleep had been so deep that you'd felt beyond refreshed as you quietly climbed out of bed to shower, deciding before you'd even finished washing up that you wanted to show your boyfriend some appreciation for his care, no matter that it had been for a special occasion, by getting some breakfast. Having a day off together seemed like the right occasion to forgo Jackson's usual frightening nightmare health shake to just enjoy some coffee and bagels from the nearby cafe you had an affinity for. Being stuck waiting in a fairly long line once you'd arrived hadn't been irritating enough to wreck your mood, the wandering of your mind to some of the things you could do with your boyfriend once you got home helping to make the time pass.

There were dozens of activities the two of you could feasibly do together, plenty of mutual hobbies to indulge in to while away the hours over the course of the weekend, though naturally, you hoped that there might be plenty of time on whatever unofficial schedule there might be to set aside for copious nudity. Or maybe slight nudity, your lips fighting a secretive smile as you recalled just how many times arousal had lead to having your way with your boyfriend or vice versa without either of you giving much care towards getting fully undressed. Jackson in the nude tended to be a personal favorite view, but he looked every bit as glorious with his clothes mostly on and his cock pulled out of his pants, tip dripping before you took it in hand or inside. Your beverages and bread may have been hot once you left the coffee shop with them, but your body felt even hotter thanks to the reflections of your abundantly healthy sex life. With much of your stress levels weakened and the energy which came with having gotten plenty of sleep, the notion of getting laid for your birthday even a day late made you all too anxious for what would hopefully be to come after breakfast.

Thoughts danced through your mind as to how you could wake Jackson up, if you felt like doing so instead of letting him sleep in later, coming to a quick internal debate between either kissing his face until he came to or possibly tickling the absolute shit out of him instead. Either method would be fun, make him look cute as could be with the usual pouting fuzziness he had about him when he first woke up, doubting you'd even mind his morning breath when you just couldn't wait to snog him thoroughly at the first available opportunity. It was with thoughts of his mouth on your own and of course other places that you finally arrived home, kicking your ballet flats off in the entryway immediately past the door, deciding they could just sit there until you had your hands truly free.

“Jacks?” you called out halfway down the hall, the paper bag of bagels crinkling as you tucked it in the crook of your elbow.

He was there as soon you'd made it into the kitchen, sitting in a pulled out chair beside the table, watching the doorway with a relaxed posture that made him seem like he'd only been awaiting your return for a short while. His greeting was much calmer than the noisy giddiness of last night, a growing smile that bordered somewhere very close to sultry making him look as good as the casual jeans and white t-shirt that he had on, a simple aesthetic he made mouthwatering.

“I brought breakfast. Or brunch by now, I guess?”

Jackson didn't spare the bag or drink caddy even glance, sight on you and only you rather than what you carried, sitting up a little straighter as a hand drifted down across tight denim, from the inside of one thick thigh to his knee. You stood near enough to him that you figured he'd noticed the way you'd focused so intently on the slow movement of his fingers, assumption becoming proven fact when he appeared so pleased.

“I think you should leave everything on the counter for now and come straddle my thigh.”

Had he read where your mind had begun going? You were pretty sure he'd taken a direct gander into your thoughts to learn exactly what you wanted as soon as you realized you wanted it, delight persuading you to set everything in your grasp aside. The coffee could go cold. You'd truthfully didn't care either way, your legs moving around one of his to lower your core directly down onto the seat he'd so generously offered, so damn glad you'd decided to wear a skirt. Jackson grabbed a handful of your ass, the tip of his thumb pressing under the edge of your panties as he gave a squeeze, his smile even more stunning up close.

“Were you already thinking about this before you came home? You're so hot for me I can just about feel it through my jeans.”

“If I'm awake then there's at least a ninety percent chance I'm thinking about how bad I want you, babe.”

“Aw. So, I'm not the man of your dreams?”

You had to laugh a little at how genuinely disappointed he sounded even though he hadn't hesitated to tense his thigh between yours, the hand on your bottom leading you to rock your hips, grind down against the stern limb applying pressure to your core through the cotton of your underwear.

“I mean, yes, but usually we're playing chess against aliens instead of fucking.”

“That is a whole damn story you're gonna have to tell me about later. For now, kisses. I made sure my breath is all minty fresh.”

“Jacks, you are truly the only man in the universe who can still get me wet after a comment like that. Sometimes I don't know how you do it.”

“You like someone who can make you laugh for starters.”

You gave him the kiss you both wanted, tasting the coolness of the mint on his tongue as it dipped into your mouth, but he kept it brief when he wasn't quite done talking yet and you didn't care too much about the interruption when you knew just how well his voice and words could lead you to come undone.

“Plus, you haven't forgotten that I know **exactly** what to do when you get wet.”

A roll of your hips and a surge of pleasant sensation rushing through your body had your hands moving all over his chest and his neck, rejecting softer kisses for desperate ones, feeling so needy right off the bat, but that was part and parcel of dating Jackson. You'd never known or dated another man who could be so sweet, so silly, and equally as dirty to boot. Wanting him bad was simply part of your everyday life and so was loving him so deeply it made your chest ache at times in the best way. He made you feel so astoundingly good that even just his thigh was often preferable to your own hand, moistening cunt dragging back and forth over the flexing hardness against it, sure you'd drench your panties to leave a wet patch on his jeans long before your orgasm ever came.

“You're riding me like you're already getting desperate to cum, gorgeous. I left you needy last night. Shouldn't have had so much wine like I did.”

“It's okay,” you huffed, winded even in spite of the way Jackson was helping you move, both hands gripping the meat of your ass to lead your pace, draw you down over the more leisurely bounce of his leg. “You're a cute drunk.”

“And you're cute when you're about to stain my pants. Be even cuter once you let me take these panties off, so I can make you cream all over my tongue like I want to all day and night. I could've burned our dinner yesterday daydreaming about how good your pussy always tastes. Can't wait for a reminder.”

All the expertise he'd been missing in his tipsy state the prior evening had returned to him, making it harder and harder for you to carry on bantering when all you wanted to do was ask to him to give you more. Making you cum on his thigh or his mouth, likely even both, would beyond any doubt not be enough for Jackson when your pleasure was like a high for him all on its own. The fact that it was the day after your birthday would just serve as more reason for him to pull out the stops full tilt to ensure that your weekend became a haze of orgasms and joyous times before you returned to work next week, not even so certain you'd be able to function on Monday with how many hours you hoped you'd spend plastered to his body. Taking pleasure from rocking and writhing over his thigh felt like a beautiful start to the leg-weakening festivities, the growing tenderness of your clit drawing you closer to losing all sense of rhythm.

Jackson's teeth nibbling at your neck had you moaning just as much as his hands, the gentle strength of them moving under your shirt to toy with your breasts, letting you control the erratic pace of your undulating hips as you saw fit. The lack of padding to your bra let you feel the rub and pinch of fingers on your nipples, pleasure and ever cautious teases of pain questing down to mingle with the sensations quivering through your core, wetness gathering to an incredible degree. You felt soaked, absolutely drenched, and it only made you want your panties off even more, rocking so hard on his thigh you weren't sure how much longer you'd last before you started to cum. He kissed you like he knew it, needing just one more taste of your lips to tide him over until he could return to them later with the flavor of your pussy on his tongue, his breath coming out in a gasp with a sign of his own impatience.

“Gotta stop and stand up for me, YN. Wanna taste that pretty cunt so fucking bad.”

As fantastic as you felt and covetous as the pleasure had been making you feel, the strength to stand came to you, his hands as he joined you helping your balance to remain stable. A switch in positions led you into his seat, bottom on the chair and Jackson lowered to his knees in a rush to get his face between yours. Gripping the sides of what felt like your throne with him in half a bow before you, pressing your ass off the cushion so he could get your panties down, your skirt was lifted around your waist so nothing was between his mouth and your pussy. His big hands circled around the backs of your knees, pressing your legs up rather than over his shoulders, spread just wide enough for his head to ease between your already shaking thighs. The first lick of his tongue was divinely audible and wet, a lightning bolt of bliss which immediately felt even better than the needy grinding of before. Jackson fucked his tongue into your cunt and across your clit with all the clear longing of a man who had been hoping to do so since last night, down to bury his face into your weeping slit always, even when it may not have been the best time. Both of you had nowhere to immediately be and there wasn't a stitch of alcohol in his system or your own, making the present the absolute perfect moment for the talents of his dutiful, loving mouth to come into play.

“Was dying to come home and do this for you as soon as I left for work yesterday morning,” he confessed without shame and with his tongue working you wild between raspy utterances. “Only thing I'm getting drunk on the rest of this weekend is your pussy...how pretty you sound when you're cumming against my lips and my tongue.”

Your body shuddered, but you realized you barely had to rock your hips to achieve the pressure and pleasure you needed when Jackson read what you wanted at any given moment so well, knowing without a doubt how close you were. Wanting him yesterday, in spite of the inability to find the energy for sex or the true desire to seek it when he'd been an adorably boozy dork, had helped to make you a little quicker to reach a climax than he could already get you, especially with the added fantasizing you'd gotten lost to since the cafe that morning. Your core quivered, covered by the combined efforts of his soft lips and the delirium-inducing tongue plying your clit with rapid strokes of pressure which didn't slow or stop, struggling to keep your eyes from blinking shut thanks to the climb of satisfaction drawing you along to the brink. When you felt it, breaking against the beautiful onslaught of your orgasm, the moan you released quickly slipped from your lips to dance with a series of breathy giggles, smiling through the whole of the release from the simple joy of feeling it, especially so swiftly.

Jackson probably would've grinned at the sound, but he remained dedicated to dragging out your orgasm for as much time as you would allow him to, tongue not coming to a halt until you let go of the edge of the seat to comb your fingers through his brown hair.

“Okay, okay, getting to be a lil too much down there. Let a girl breathe.”

The light vibration of his saddened groan made you jerk, intensifying the aftershocks of greater sensitivity yet at your behest he pulled away, waiting for you to grip the edge of the chair to lift your bottom, reposition it in your seat before he slowly lowered your feet back to the floor. The mildly boneless and breathless state of you wouldn't last long when you still wanted him, oral sex your idea of a perfect prelude to more, and with the day still being young, you very much wanted to aim for spending most of the afternoon making up for every hour of exhausting nonsense your actual birthday had involved. Maybe a whirlwind of sex and orgasms might render you too worn out for whatever day or night out Jackson may have secretly been planning, but it wasn't as if you had anything else definitively penciled in on your weekend schedule.

“Is this 'I'm so satisfied I can't help the happy giggles' laughter or 'I just realized my boyfriend spelled happy birthday against my clit with his tongue' laughter?”

“Did you really?!”

“Okay, that reaction answers my question.”

Cackling so hard it made your sides sore, you looked through the tears of hilarity to see that Jackson had been watching you, smiling brighter than a cake full of birthday candles ever could. You leaned forward in your seat, a kiss that tasted like you never a bother, and a hopeful prelude to the flavor of him on your tongue too.

“Thank you for making my day wonderful, Jacks.”

“Better than your birthday ended up being?”

It looked like it would take a bit to do away with the guilt he didn't need to feel, that you didn't want him to feel, standing up just to convince him to follow, turning him towards the chair to sit as he had you do before he'd started to go down on you. The floor was hard on your knees, but you didn't care as your eyes looked from the wet mark on his pant leg to the bulge pressing against the zipper of the denim, gaze finally finding his face for your favorite sight of them all.

“As long as I get to be with you, even for a little while, then even my worst days are good ones.”

“So, they're wine-derful?”

Another laugh, never in short supply with Jackson in your life, and you decided for the millionth time since you'd begun dating that you wanted every one of your birthdays going forward to be celebrated with him, with or without a little comedic tipsiness joining the party.

“Definitely wine-derful.”


End file.
